Man oh man Thanksgiving dinner is getting more expensive every year! I got up early and went to Wal-mart, spent well over $100 dollars. This year we're all responsible for a dish and I'm making the fruit salad and stuffing. I also got some eggnog because I know my niece likes it. And...because hubby is spending the holiday with his family in Boca Raton we're going to celebrate by making a little dinner on Sunday when he returns. So I also bought a Butterball turkey.
Of course, the money I spent wasn't just for Thanksgiving dinner items. But it sure got me to thinking how much I would have spent had I been prepared to cook the whole meal, like years before. It was my daughter's idea that we all contribute this year.
I'm sooooooooo ready for it to get here, being that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I'll get a few extra days off from work, too, which is always nice.
My fruit salad:
1 large can fruit cocktail - drained
1 small can mandarin oranges - drained
1 jar cherries - drained
2 bananas - sliced thin
1 cup fresh coconut - shredded
1 cup walnuts - chopped up
2 cups small marshmallows
1 apple - peeled and chopped up
1 medium size container of sour cream
Mix everything together. Makes a great side dish but I eat mine as dessert.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Holiday Fruit Salad
Manic Readers Blog Winners
Guess what! One week ago today I blogged at Manic Readers and promised two readers would be randomly chosen to receive a download of one of my books. It's All in the Jeans and The Cowboy Way to be exact. Congratulations to Linda H and Tara W...please contact me to claim your prizes.
It's All in the Jeans - Linda
The Cowboy Way - Tara
Tootles!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Texting
I just learned how! LOL And I'm only 54 years old...well, I will be very soon. What fun it is. However, the other day my daughter sent me three messages before I could even answer one. She said I'm slow. Well, duh! I can't see the small letters and I also have the kind of phone that doesn't have a keypad.
Yes and no questions are desired:)
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
CUPID'S ARROW excerpt
Cupid's Arrow was my first book published with Whiskey Creek Press and was on their best sellers list for two consecutive months.
Emma watched Mike slowly approach the dugout and immediately began looking around for something to use on his eye. Spying a cooler, she opened it and grabbed a handful of crushed ice before it dawned on her she didn’t have anything to put it in. She looked around for Amanda’s bag, realizing she’d probably have something in there she could use. Finding it beneath the bench, she sat down and opened it with one hand, digging through the contents for the first item of clothing she saw. However, when she held it up, her mouth dropped.
Oh my!
She glanced up just as Mike stepped into the dugout and held her breath with embarrassment on discovering it was definitely not Amanda’s bag she was rifling through. Their eyes locked, well, his one good eye to hers, and a flush spread across Emma’s face that produced a full-fledged grin on his. His gaze lowered to take in what she was holding in her hand. Her confidence to handle the situation lagged considerably by the amusement swimming in his eyes.
“I, ah, usually know a woman a little longer before letting her, ah, handle my underwear,” he had the nerve to say, crossing his arms. He was thoroughly enjoying her dilemma.
Emma was speechless, drowning in the deep water of Mike’s eyes. Not only had she been caught going through someone’s bag, but it turned out to be his. She glanced at the underwear in question, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when a foiled condom packet fell out, landing on her lap. She dropped the boxers as if she’d grabbed a snake, ignoring the condom, too mortified to move. She knew she should say something but the words stuck in her throat. The ice melting in her hand reminded her of what she’d been doing, enabling her to finally act with some amount of normalcy.
Trying for a smile, she was barely able to lift her voice above a whisper. “I, ah, thought this was Amanda’s bag; she has one that’s very similar. I saw you get hit in the eye and was looking for something to put this ice in.” Mike surprised her by reaching forward. The closer he got the further she shrank back. But he only snatched the condom off her lap and tossed it back in his bag, his jaw tight as though trying to hold back a laugh.
“Is that for me?”
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Look who's a guest blogger over at....
MANIC READERS!
A couple books will be given away and I don't want anyone to miss out. So head on over there and leave a comment.
Manic Readers Blog
Happy Mental Health Day
Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have. Ralph and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital. One day while they were walking past the hospital swimming pool, Ralph suddenly jumped into the deep end.
He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there.
Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled him out. When the Head Nurse Director became aware of Edna's heroic act she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she now considered her to be mentally stable.
When she went to tell Edna the news she said, 'Edna, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you're being discharged, since you were able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life of the person you love. I have concluded that your act displays sound mindedness.
'The bad news is, Ralph hung himself in the bathroom with his bathrobe belt right after you saved him. I am so sorry, but he's dead.'
Edna replied, 'He didn't hang himself. I put him there to dry.... How soon can I go home?'
Friday, November 13, 2009
What a Beautiful Day!
I ended up doing a little more today than planned but it's all good. The weather is so beautiful that I herded the kitties into a back bedroom and opened up the rest of the house. Felt great airing out the place. Then I decided to wash all the area rugs. So they're all outside drying and sucking in lots of fresh air and sunshine.
If you're wondering why I shut the kitties up in a room it's because we live in an old house and the screens are old. The cats like to sit in the windows and I didn't want to take a chance on one of them going through the screen.
Gin Gin went to the vet this morning for her yearly. She's two pounds heavier than last year. Try putting one cat on a diet when you have three!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Awe...it's my Friday today and I soooo need this weekend! Want to get a lot of writing done. But more than that, I need some time to myself. Have to take Gin Gin to the vet in the morning and then get the shopping done but after that...it's me time. The housework can wait:)
What's one more week?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Welcome author Tracey Cramer-Kelly today folks! She's in the middle of a virtual book tour with Goddess Fish Promotions. She shares a little bit about herself and an excerpt of her newest book.
Bio -
How does your background in the military impact your writing?
I wasn’t a very good soldier. In fact, people often react with bemused surprise when they find out. “You?” they say. “You took orders from others?”
Not very well, I admit…but I was young!
I might have made a good officer, though. I was already bossy (as three of my younger siblings can attest to) and a bit of a control freak.
But I like to think I was a good medic. Where I responded to Army ‘regiment’ with near-distain, what I was trained for had the opposite effect: I loved it. I loved splinting a broken leg. Inserting an IV. Dressing a sucking chest wound.
Of course I approached my training with a ‘proper’ level of seriousness…but it was a sort of conceptual play. I joined to help pay my way through college (my real aspiration); never in my wildest dreams did I expect to be activated.
Desert Storm changed that. One day I came home to a blink on my answering machine (remember those?) and a message from my Sergeant: “call me immediately.” My friend said I lost all color in my face; my legs went shaky and I had to sit down. Turns out that the Military Police unit that shared our armory had been activated and the purpose for the call was to reschedule our monthly training. For the first time, it occurred to me that I might have to defend our country somewhere half-way around the world. That was not in my plans!
I had a lot of military friends. My BFF was Air Force ROTC, and she introduced me to my college flame, who was also an Air Force cadet. Today an ex-Air Force physician is one of my SMEs (Subject Matter Expert). Good friends from church lost their son in Iraq. And I have many motorcycling acquaintances who are involved with the Patriot Guard.
There was (is?) also a side to the military lifestyle that challenged every moral I was brought up with: the casual sex, the easy changing of partners, the marital cheating, even borderline harassment. When you’re immersed in an environment, you start to think it’s perfectly acceptable. Now I find that fascinating as fodder for characters.
The Army that I trained in is undoubtedly a different Army now—it has to be. Instead of broken legs, medics deal with ‘blown-off’ legs (or other body parts). It’s not just bullets that kill; it’s shrapnel. Traumatic head injury—common now—was barely covered in my training.
So how has my experience in the military affected my writing?
I think everything I write is affected by what I’ve experienced. I tend to view my experiences through a lens that others don’t have (‘how can I use this?’) Yes, there’s a healthy dose of imagination and plenty of creative license, but a seed has to be sown somewhere, and for me it is often the dual experience of military training and medical training.
I made the heroine of Last Chance Rescue (Jessie) an Iraq war veteran and gave her some of the qualities I saw in my fellow soldiers/medics (and perhaps myself). I did that because I enjoy writing medical drama, and because it gave her depth and plenty of ways for me to develop her character—and to have an impact on those closest to her (e.g., Brad).
What fascinates me now about today’s military is the juxtaposition between service to country and service to family. This inherent conflict is something I’m exploring in a short story (“The Heroes Left Behind”) and also in my current novel-in-progress (you can read more about that at http://www.lastchancerescuebook.com/writing.htm).
I wasn’t a very good soldier. In fact, people often react with bemused surprise when they find out. “You?” they say. “You took orders from others?”
Not very well, I admit…but I was young!
I might have made a good officer, though. I was already bossy (as three of my younger siblings can attest to) and a bit of a control freak.
But I like to think I was a good medic. Where I responded to Army ‘regiment’ with near-distain, what I was trained for had the opposite effect: I loved it. I loved splinting a broken leg. Inserting an IV. Dressing a sucking chest wound.
Of course I approached my training with a ‘proper’ level of seriousness…but it was a sort of conceptual play. I joined to help pay my way through college (my real aspiration); never in my wildest dreams did I expect to be activated.
Desert Storm changed that. One day I came home to a blink on my answering machine (remember those?) and a message from my Sergeant: “call me immediately.” My friend said I lost all color in my face; my legs went shaky and I had to sit down. Turns out that the Military Police unit that shared our armory had been activated and the purpose for the call was to reschedule our monthly training. For the first time, it occurred to me that I might have to defend our country somewhere half-way around the world. That was not in my plans!
I had a lot of military friends. My BFF was Air Force ROTC, and she introduced me to my college flame, who was also an Air Force cadet. Today an ex-Air Force physician is one of my SMEs (Subject Matter Expert). Good friends from church lost their son in Iraq. And I have many motorcycling acquaintances who are involved with the Patriot Guard.
There was (is?) also a side to the military lifestyle that challenged every moral I was brought up with: the casual sex, the easy changing of partners, the marital cheating, even borderline harassment. When you’re immersed in an environment, you start to think it’s perfectly acceptable. Now I find that fascinating as fodder for characters.
The Army that I trained in is undoubtedly a different Army now—it has to be. Instead of broken legs, medics deal with ‘blown-off’ legs (or other body parts). It’s not just bullets that kill; it’s shrapnel. Traumatic head injury—common now—was barely covered in my training.
So how has my experience in the military affected my writing?
I think everything I write is affected by what I’ve experienced. I tend to view my experiences through a lens that others don’t have (‘how can I use this?’) Yes, there’s a healthy dose of imagination and plenty of creative license, but a seed has to be sown somewhere, and for me it is often the dual experience of military training and medical training.
I made the heroine of Last Chance Rescue (Jessie) an Iraq war veteran and gave her some of the qualities I saw in my fellow soldiers/medics (and perhaps myself). I did that because I enjoy writing medical drama, and because it gave her depth and plenty of ways for me to develop her character—and to have an impact on those closest to her (e.g., Brad).
What fascinates me now about today’s military is the juxtaposition between service to country and service to family. This inherent conflict is something I’m exploring in a short story (“The Heroes Left Behind”) and also in my current novel-in-progress (you can read more about that at http://www.lastchancerescuebook.com/writing.htm).
Excerpt -
The helicopter shuddered and swayed as it lifted off the helipad. Instinctively Brad Sievers gripped the edge of the bench, willing his stomach to calm down.
The chopper was so full he could hardly move, and he felt overly warm and claustrophobic. Though he wore a headset, he could hear the Colorado air pulsing through the giant blades above.
Minutes ago he'd been terribly insistent about tagging along on this search-and-rescue mission; now he wasn't sure it was a good idea. What the hell am I doing? he thought. I'm in advertising, for Chrissakes!
"Okay, listen up," the team leader said.
The movement of the chopper was so foreign to Brad that he had difficulty paying attention. The team leader talked about the missing snowmobilers -- what they looked like, where they were last seen and probable scenarios. He threw out a lot of numbers -- coordinates, Brad realized later -- and assigned teams to what he kept calling quadrants. "And Jessie will take our ride-along in CHIPS," he finished.
Brad had known Jessie Van Dyke since kindergarten -- in fact, it was entirely possible he'd chased her around the playground in "kiss and tell" -- but they'd been only casual acquaintances through high school. He hadn't seen her in ten years -- until he showed up at their high school reunion in Minnesota just weeks ago, hoping to impress his old crush, Aimee Kinderbach -- who blew him off in the end.
He must have had a blank look on his face because Jessie said, "CHIPS is our medevac chopper. It's equipped with heat-seeking equipment, electronic mapping, medical equipment -- the whole nine yards. It's parked at our rendezvous helipad." She tugged on Brad's harness, adjusting the fit like another woman would adjust a tie.
They disembarked on a plateau that was in the middle of nowhere according to Jessie. Brad wouldn't have known it; the plateau was lit up like the Fourth of July, a line of snowmobiles idling to one side. A blast of cold air hit him, making him thankful for the jacket.
Jessie tapped his arm. "This way." She led him around the helicopter they'd just landed in. Behind it was the smaller helicopter, CHIPS. It, too, had its propellers going.
Jessie swung open the back door and plugged in her headset.
"Hey guys," she said. "We've got company tonight."
She indicated that Brad should take the rear-facing seat, and showed him where to plug in his headset. She introduced him to "Pilot Sam" and "Navigator Rick."
"Brad's been hanging out with us and couldn't resist sticking around for the real thing." Jessie settled herself into the seat across from Brad.
A pair of lit-up computer screens in front of Rick caught Brad's attention. "How does that work?"
As if in response to his inquiry, a voice came over the radio. "Checking all systems ... all teams power up."
Lights began blinking on the computer screen. "Every team has a transmitter as well as GPS on their radio," Rick explained. "We can track them from above and the mission coordinator can track them from the base site."
Brad found himself riveted to the lights on the screen as the teams responded one by one: "Ready on Alpha." "Ready on Bravo." "Ready on Charlie ..."
It took him several minutes to realize what the words meant. "Team names?"
Jessie nodded. "Based on the military alphabet. That was the team leader, Dan, calling for the ready-check."
Finally Rick spoke into his mouthpiece. "We have audio and visual on all teams. We are ready to rock and roll."
"Ditto on the ground," another voice said. "Move out!"
The helicopter began to rise as snowmobiles passed it on the right. Out the rear window panel, Brad watched as the launch pad and snowmobile lights disappeared from view. "How do you know where to look?" he asked.
"Sometimes we don't," Rick said. "But in this case, we have fairly reliable information about where they are."
"If we didn't, we may have been put on standby until the ground teams found them -- or first light," Jessie said.
"Or if the weather was really crappy," Rick added.
"Here. Make yourself useful." Jessie was holding something that looked like a cross between binoculars and 3-D glasses. "They're night-vision goggles."
Brad wasn't sure what he was looking for but it felt better to be contributing, so he strapped the goggles on and peered out the window at the ground below. His thoughts drifted to the woman across from him…
Their chance encounter at the reunion had stuck with him after he returned to his new job in Dallas. He tried to forget the way she touched his lapel when she said, "I never would have guessed you for advertising; I didn't think that would give you fulfillment." And the way her eyes searched his when she teased him about being shallow.
And then he lost his job.
And the self-doubt -- was he the reason they'd lost the account? -- started eating at him. He'd been drinking himself to devastation every night, but it hadn't made him feel any better. If anything, that brief conversation with Jessie came to mind more often. So, on a half-drunken whim, he'd driven from Dallas to her home state of Colorado, intending to put her "shallow" comment to rest.
But the conversation didn't go the way he'd envisioned it ...
"Team Foxtrot has a visual." The voice cut into Brad's thoughts, jarring him back to the present. He wasn't sure how long they'd been flying.
"Cannot confirm it's our target," the voice continued. "We'll check it out."
"Are we close enough?" Sam said.
Rick was studying a map on one of the computer screens. "That's southwest of us about 20 miles," he said. "If it's not legit, we can circle back easily and still cover prime terrain."
It was Sam's turn to radio. "CHIPS to back up Foxtrot." He swung the chopper around.
"Affirmative, Chips II."
"Who's on Foxtrot?" Rick asked.
"That would be Micah and Ryan," Jessie said. Brad had just had a long conversation about stock car racing with Ryan, a young Vietnamese-American who was full of jokes.
Fifteen minutes later Rick said, "We're coming up on Foxtrot."
"They look stationary," Jessie said. "I have a visual on their objective ... looks like a wreck, all right."
The helicopter shuddered and swayed as it lifted off the helipad. Instinctively Brad Sievers gripped the edge of the bench, willing his stomach to calm down.
The chopper was so full he could hardly move, and he felt overly warm and claustrophobic. Though he wore a headset, he could hear the Colorado air pulsing through the giant blades above.
Minutes ago he'd been terribly insistent about tagging along on this search-and-rescue mission; now he wasn't sure it was a good idea. What the hell am I doing? he thought. I'm in advertising, for Chrissakes!
"Okay, listen up," the team leader said.
The movement of the chopper was so foreign to Brad that he had difficulty paying attention. The team leader talked about the missing snowmobilers -- what they looked like, where they were last seen and probable scenarios. He threw out a lot of numbers -- coordinates, Brad realized later -- and assigned teams to what he kept calling quadrants. "And Jessie will take our ride-along in CHIPS," he finished.
Brad had known Jessie Van Dyke since kindergarten -- in fact, it was entirely possible he'd chased her around the playground in "kiss and tell" -- but they'd been only casual acquaintances through high school. He hadn't seen her in ten years -- until he showed up at their high school reunion in Minnesota just weeks ago, hoping to impress his old crush, Aimee Kinderbach -- who blew him off in the end.
He must have had a blank look on his face because Jessie said, "CHIPS is our medevac chopper. It's equipped with heat-seeking equipment, electronic mapping, medical equipment -- the whole nine yards. It's parked at our rendezvous helipad." She tugged on Brad's harness, adjusting the fit like another woman would adjust a tie.
They disembarked on a plateau that was in the middle of nowhere according to Jessie. Brad wouldn't have known it; the plateau was lit up like the Fourth of July, a line of snowmobiles idling to one side. A blast of cold air hit him, making him thankful for the jacket.
Jessie tapped his arm. "This way." She led him around the helicopter they'd just landed in. Behind it was the smaller helicopter, CHIPS. It, too, had its propellers going.
Jessie swung open the back door and plugged in her headset.
"Hey guys," she said. "We've got company tonight."
She indicated that Brad should take the rear-facing seat, and showed him where to plug in his headset. She introduced him to "Pilot Sam" and "Navigator Rick."
"Brad's been hanging out with us and couldn't resist sticking around for the real thing." Jessie settled herself into the seat across from Brad.
A pair of lit-up computer screens in front of Rick caught Brad's attention. "How does that work?"
As if in response to his inquiry, a voice came over the radio. "Checking all systems ... all teams power up."
Lights began blinking on the computer screen. "Every team has a transmitter as well as GPS on their radio," Rick explained. "We can track them from above and the mission coordinator can track them from the base site."
Brad found himself riveted to the lights on the screen as the teams responded one by one: "Ready on Alpha." "Ready on Bravo." "Ready on Charlie ..."
It took him several minutes to realize what the words meant. "Team names?"
Jessie nodded. "Based on the military alphabet. That was the team leader, Dan, calling for the ready-check."
Finally Rick spoke into his mouthpiece. "We have audio and visual on all teams. We are ready to rock and roll."
"Ditto on the ground," another voice said. "Move out!"
The helicopter began to rise as snowmobiles passed it on the right. Out the rear window panel, Brad watched as the launch pad and snowmobile lights disappeared from view. "How do you know where to look?" he asked.
"Sometimes we don't," Rick said. "But in this case, we have fairly reliable information about where they are."
"If we didn't, we may have been put on standby until the ground teams found them -- or first light," Jessie said.
"Or if the weather was really crappy," Rick added.
"Here. Make yourself useful." Jessie was holding something that looked like a cross between binoculars and 3-D glasses. "They're night-vision goggles."
Brad wasn't sure what he was looking for but it felt better to be contributing, so he strapped the goggles on and peered out the window at the ground below. His thoughts drifted to the woman across from him…
Their chance encounter at the reunion had stuck with him after he returned to his new job in Dallas. He tried to forget the way she touched his lapel when she said, "I never would have guessed you for advertising; I didn't think that would give you fulfillment." And the way her eyes searched his when she teased him about being shallow.
And then he lost his job.
And the self-doubt -- was he the reason they'd lost the account? -- started eating at him. He'd been drinking himself to devastation every night, but it hadn't made him feel any better. If anything, that brief conversation with Jessie came to mind more often. So, on a half-drunken whim, he'd driven from Dallas to her home state of Colorado, intending to put her "shallow" comment to rest.
But the conversation didn't go the way he'd envisioned it ...
"Team Foxtrot has a visual." The voice cut into Brad's thoughts, jarring him back to the present. He wasn't sure how long they'd been flying.
"Cannot confirm it's our target," the voice continued. "We'll check it out."
"Are we close enough?" Sam said.
Rick was studying a map on one of the computer screens. "That's southwest of us about 20 miles," he said. "If it's not legit, we can circle back easily and still cover prime terrain."
It was Sam's turn to radio. "CHIPS to back up Foxtrot." He swung the chopper around.
"Affirmative, Chips II."
"Who's on Foxtrot?" Rick asked.
"That would be Micah and Ryan," Jessie said. Brad had just had a long conversation about stock car racing with Ryan, a young Vietnamese-American who was full of jokes.
Fifteen minutes later Rick said, "We're coming up on Foxtrot."
"They look stationary," Jessie said. "I have a visual on their objective ... looks like a wreck, all right."
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Hey folks, another chance to win a Tory Richards book AND gift certificate for Bath and Body Works! Visit the link below and play.
Good luck!
Whipped Cream
BITCHOLOGY
When I stand up for myself and my beliefs, they call me a bitch.
When I stand up for those I love, they call me a bitch.
When I speak my mind, think my own thoughts or do things my own way, they call me a
bitch.
Being a bitch means I won't compromise what's in my heart. It means I live my life MY way. It means I won't allow anyone to step on me.
When I refuse to tolerate injustice and speak against it, I am defined as a bitch.
The same thing happens when I take time for myself instead of being everyone's maid, or when I act a little selfish.
It means I have the courage and strength to allow myself to be who I truly am and won't become anyone else's idea of what they think I 'should' be.
I am outspoken, opinionated and determined. I want what I want and there is nothing wrong with that! So try to stomp on me, just try to douse my inner flame, try to squash every ounce of beauty I hold within me. You won't succeed.
And if that makes me a bitch ,so be it. I embrace the title and am proud to bear it.
B - Babe
I - In
T - Total
C - Control of
H - Herself
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday Man Candy
I like a nice chest, don't you? Nice abs...nice arms...nice hands...fills out his jeans real nice, too:)
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